Hero Worship
by celinenaville
Summary: There's a reason why Dean idolizes his father. It stretches far back into his past. Sam will never understand, because he wasn't there. Dean is 6 when he witnesses an event that will change his perception of his dad forever. "First thing you have to know is...we have the coolest dad in the world. He's a superhero... Monsters are real. Dad fights 'em." Weechester!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Dean put his face to the glass of the Impala, moving his hands up to press against the passenger window.

John smiled, "Easy there, kiddo. You're gonna lean hard enough and bust right out of there. Then I'll have to figure out where you fell out and come back to scrape you off the road."

Dean turned to him with wide green eyes. "Can I really do that?" He pushed experimentally on the glass with one hand.

"Hey," John said, a little sterness to his tone. "Don't push on the glass. I'm just kidding." He ruffled Dean's soft blonde hair. "I'll tell you what you appearently can do, which is leave prints all over the window for me to clean up."

Dean used his sleeve to smear some of the oil marks around in his attempt to help. "It's my mess. I'll clean it up." His cheap plastic Spiderman watch made a loud clack against the surface.

John smirked, a dimple showing through his stubble. "It's okay. I'll get it later. How was school?"

Dean shrugged, rose up on his knees to watch out the window again. Fascinated by the scenery rolling by.

John tried again. "What did you learn?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" John raised a dark eyebrow. "Wow. The curriculum has changed since I was a kid...Dean, sit on your butt before you go flying if I stop the car."

Dean sighed and settled back on the seat, swinging his legs back and forth. His eldest son was a perpetual motion machine it seemed. Much more animated than young Sammy.

Dean strained to sit up tall enough to look out the front windshield. "Where are we going?"

"I'm just taking a quick detour to check on something, Sport, then we can go get Sammy from the sitters."

Dean folded a leg under himself for height once again and John sighed. "Sit."

"Sorry, Dad."

"Come on Dean, first week of first grade, what did you learn?" John said congenially.

Dean scooted over to him on the bench seat and buried his face in the side of John's worn leather jacket. "I don't know."

"Taxpayer money hard at work right there." John quipped. "Hey kid..." he tried to free his arm from Dean's crowding. "I'm happy to see you too, but Daddy needs room to steer or I'm going to crash us."

Dean sat up. "Okay."

John rolled his shoulder. "That's my man." He slowed as they passed the old house on the hill, put Baby in park and let her idle.

It was getting dark already. Hardly even dinner time and the light was fading. He barely had time to pick Dean up from the after school program and run some errands and it was already late. They both needed dinner. He was starting to wonder if he should pay the woman to keep the boys overnight so that he could do some hunting. He'd been working this case for a week and he was fairly certain the paranormal activity that had been plaguing the families around here was about to reach a head.

It had already claimed the lives of one family and he was going to be damned of he let it claim another. He had no clue what caused him to pull up to case the Anderson's house before he fed and dropped Dean off. It was on the way, sure, but he had no intent to hunt with his 6 year old in the car. It was more hunter's instinct than anything that made him shut off the car finally and step out. He ducked down. "Dean. I'm going to go check something out. I need you to wait right here, you got me?"

"Can I come?"

"No! You wait right here in this car, got that?"

Dean looked nervous. He'd been a bit clingy since the night his mother had died. He was getting better but he still had occasional issues when Dad left.  
Apparently this was going to be one of those damn times. "Stay. I will be RIGHT back."

John circled around to the trunk, got his ivory handled .45. He slammed the trunk firmly, rocking the car. He turned to see Dean's face pressed against the glass. "Stay." He ordered. No sooner had he said the words then the house behind him erupted into flames. The windows blew in a blast of heated air, shards flying far enough to almost reach where he stood. It went again in another blast that had him ducking and covering his ears.

Cries reached him from the engulfed structure of the little yellow two story. "Stay!" He yelled to his child and ran into the the fray. It took him a moment to break into the door disappear inside.

Dean sat in the front seat, watching the flames in a fascinated terror. His heart began to pound as his father left his sight. The fire began to consume the roof, it blackened and smoked, caved in on itself like a melting candle. The pyromaniac in every young boy kept Dean's eyes glued, but the other part of him, the part that remembered a fire not too long ago knew that bad things happened when houses caught. People died. Mothers disappeared. His small fingers dug into the rim of the car window and he rose onto his knees. "Dad." He whispered. "Dad." The minutes crawled by and he felt real fear in his chest. Real anxiety. He was alone. It was dark.

Dean started to yell. "Daddy! Daddy!"

He scrabbled at the window frame, pulled up the lock on the Impala's passenger side with shaking fingers and shoved the door open, launching himself out.

The house looked like a twisted bonfire rising into the sky. He knew enough not to leave the proximity of the car. He craned his head, strained his eyes and ears and cried for his father once again. "Dad!" He jumped in one spot, his anxiety needing an outlet even then, prompting him to move, react.

And then, suddenly, the front door flew open, half off its hinges and six-feet of John Winchester stood silhouetted in the flame, carrying a limp woman in his arms. He was covered in soot and coughing.

"Dad!"

He looked up. "Dean! Stay where you are!"

Dean took a step forward and was slammed off of his feet by some force that he didn't understand. He tumbled sideways with a cry, eyes wide at a twisted figure standing above him, half burnt and hideous like the worst Halloween decoration he'd ever seen.

He cried in sheer terror and burst into tears. A shot from his father's pistol rang out and the figure dissipated. Dean lay in the grass, stunned. He could hear his father approaching quickly and in a second he was at his side, sliding to a kneeling stop in the tall grass. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dad smelled like smoke and leather. He gathered the boy into his arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're okay," he soothed.

"Daddy!" The name broke on a sob.

"It's okay," John's lips were pressed to his son's soft hair. He exhaled into it and pulled away. "Are you hurt?"

His big hands searched Dean for an obvious injury and he pulled him up to his feet. Dean was still crying. He clung to his Dad. John gently pushed him away. "Dean. You're okay. Stop."

He turned and started to walk back to the woman he'd left sprawled on the grass. Dean clung to his long leather jacket staggering behind sobbing.

His father spun, throwing Dean sideways with the movement. The figure appeared to their side and John perfunctorily emptied another round into it.

Dean came lose from the jacket and almost fell sprawling backwards onto the lawn. He was crying again. "Hey." His father bent down and grabbed his arms. "I know you're scared. But she's hurt. Go open the car door for me."

The little boy paused and John gave him a small shove. "Hurry Dean. Now!"

The words sent Dean into motion just as they had one horrible night barely two years ago.

"Back door, Dean!"

Dean unlocked it and swung it open.

John nodded. "Get in!"

Obediently, Dean clambered over the seat and John slid the woman's pale, soot covered form in after him.

"Your job is to watch her, okay?" No sooner were the words out of John's mouth than some force yanked him backwards out of the car. He went down with a surprised shout, his pistol falling out of his hands.

Dean leaned over the woman and watched his Dad tousle with the half-burned figure. John threw a punch and dove back toward the Impala before it grabbed him again. He kicked it with a booted heel and managed to drag himself to his knees. He was coughing with the exertion, face smudged with soot.

It was on him again- and again his Dad went down, face first into the lawn.

Dean felt a surge of protective indignation sweep through him. "Leave him alone!"

It lifted it's head and locked it's soulless eyes onto Dean. The boy felt his heart skip.

That second of distraction was all John needed to fling it sideways and empty the rest of his clip into it.

"Dean!" He shouted, his voice husky and deep with exertion "Is she wearing a locket?"

Dean stared at his dad a moment, not understanding. "A necklace?" John made a motion as he walked to the car.

Dean looked over and nodded. "Yes." He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to scrub away the remnants of his tears.

John's face softened as he leaned in and locked gazes with his eldest. "Hey, kiddo."

The woman on the seat was making a strange rasping noise and John turned his attention to her. "Hey, sweetheart," his voice was soft and low. He put a hand on her head. "We're gonna get you some help real soon."

He reached over and grabbed the necklace off of her with a sharp tug. It snapped free and John held it aloft just as the figure reappeared.

Dean watched his father grin and fling the locket into the air with a throw that followed through his entire shoulder and upper body. It sailed across part of the lawn to land in the flaming wreckage. The ghost next to his father suddenly burst into flames with an earsplitting scream and disappeared.

Dean was shaking. John slammed the door and jumped into the driver's side. He twisted to look at Dean, his heavy lidded eyes serious and intense. "We're going to the hospital."

The impala peeled out in a flurry of tires.

His Dad's eyes flicked to the rearview. "Talk to her."

The woman was coming to, coughing and frightened. Dean bent over her, fascinated, his face an inch from her nose. Her long hair was singed in a few spots and it smelled acrid.

"Dean stop crowding her." His Dad admonished. "Let her breathe."

Dean backed off.

She moved her head weakly. Dean slipped his small hand over hers. "My Dad and me are going to help you," he declared through a trembling lower lip. "We're heroes."

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't need to be treated for smoke inhalation," John responded gruffly, trying to shove his way through the medical personel.

There were interfering hands on him and he was not responding to them well. He shouldered an orderly off of him. "I'm fine, now back off."

"Sir, please. You could use some oxygen."

"I could use you backing off," John replied hoarsely.

Dean watched from the side, a nurse had wrapped him in a blanket and was crouched next to him, her arms around him, comforting and gently restraining all at once.

"Dad." Dean whispered.

She tightened her hold and kissed his hair. "It's okay, sweetheart. Your Daddy is sick. We're going to help him."

Dean turned to her, all big green eyes and shaggy hair. "I want my Daddy." His tone held a bit of anxiety in it.

Across the hall, John had finally lost the argument. A coughing fit almost took him down and he was ushered into a room out of Dean's sight.

Dean tried to trail after him, but the nurse took his hand and led him to a plastic chair that loomed ridiculously over-sized for him.

She settled him into it. He sat unhappily, eyes turned toward the end of the hall. "If you wait here they'll come get you when they've got your Daddy all better, okay?" She leaned down to lock gazes with him, eyes soft and compassionate. "You stay here. Someone will come get you soon, okay?"

Dean had no choice but to wait. His teary expression conveyed his unfavorable opinion of current events.

"I hear your Dad's a hero." She added with a smile to soften the blow.

When someone did come and get him it was an hour later and Dean's young imagination had conjured up all sorts of scary scenarios. Fires and burned monsters and hurt women and Dad...he'd never seen him like that. Dean shifted and moved around his chair, got up, circled the hall, was deposited back to the chair by random nurses. Once he began to cry and someone pulled him into their lap for a moment, told him to be brave for his Dad. That calmed him down. Dean would do anything for his father. Anything at all.

He'd settled a little by the time someone finally took his hand and led him through a maze of antiseptic hallways to John Winchester's bedside. Dean ran in and paused, a little lost. His Dad, his big strong Dad, looked somehow _small_ in the huge bed.

His father lay topless, his chest rising and falling weakly, a breathing cannula in his nose. Wires monitoring his heart beat via a loud machine were adhered to his chest.

He saw Dean and smiled weakly, his face lit up with affection. "Hey kiddo."

Dean sat on his knees on the chair next to his father's bedside and wrapped his arms around his Dad's neck.

John winced. "Careful there, sport. Be careful of the wires and tubes, okay?" His voice sounded smokier than usual. "I'm happy to see you too though." His big hand was in Dean's hair, ruffling it. He coughed.

Dean didn't say anything for several minutes and John felt a surge of concern. "You okay, buddy?"

Dean nodded. "You're a hero. Everyone says." He placed a hand on his father's chest, small fingers resting in the dark hair there. He could feel the slow reassuring thump of his father's heart against his finger tips.

John looked at his son and to the door. "Dean, close the door. I've gotta tell you something."

Dean jumped off the chair and ran to obey. The heavy wood swung shut with a loud clack and Dean rushed back, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum tiles.

John took a breath. "This is my job. I'm not a salesman."

Dean frowned. "You save people from fires?"

"I save people, Dean."

"From what?" He asked, almost reverently.

"From bad things."

"Monsters."

John nodded, "Yeah, monsters...I know what you saw earlier."

Dean blinked and said nothing.

"Look Dean..." he hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. He never wanted to address this with his son while he was this young. This fucking young. Too young to have seen what he saw tonight. "There are things out there that a lot of people don't know about."

"Monsters." Dean said again, and John could almost see the half-burned ghost reflected in the child's eyes.

John nodded solemnly. "Are you afraid?" Stupid question. Of course the kid was afraid.

Dean nodded.

John looked at his son with a sudden intensity. "I know how to kill them. I won't let them hurt you, ever. Okay?"

Dean didn't respond.

John took his arm a bit roughly, tugging him aside with the movement. "Okay?"

"Yes."

Shit. A realization dawned. If his son was going to stand a chance of survival, John was going to have to train him. Really train him. Not just show him what a gun was. His sons would have to be warriors. "And I'll teach you how to protect yourself too. Got that?"

Dean leaned over the side of the bed. "Can I save people too?"

"Yes, when you are older... You did a good job today."

Dean brightened. His approval always meant so much to the kid. He wasn't sure why.

"Dad." Dean gripped the bars of the hospital bed with his small hands and pulled himself up. "I'm going to be just like you."

 _God I hope not,_ John thought darkly.

"Dean, here's the thing. This is very important...you can't tell anybody what I do."

Dean's face fell. "Why not?"

"Because other people don't know about monsters and we can't tell them. We can't tell anyone what I do, okay?"

He could see the naked distress on Dean's small features."Not even Sammy?"

"Sammy is too young to understand. Especially not Sammy." John felt a pall of guilt settle on him. He'd asked Dean to shoulder a lot for a child over the last two years and now, this was even heavier to carry. His eyes looked into his child's. So trusting. So sweet. God, if only he knew how to lighten the load, make his son understand the need for secrecy. Impress it upon him. Who was he fooling? Kids couldn't keep a damned secret if their lives depended on it. Everyone and their uncle would know about Dean's experience with a ghost in two days. He'd tell everyone at school that his Dad hunted monsters. That monsters were real. And then the fucking school psychiatrist would call John in to address his son's delusions and make him seek psychiatric help.

John reached out and took his child's hand, circled his tiny wrist with his fingers. He could feel Dean's cheap little oversized rubber watch under his thumb. He smiled and looked down at the red and black pattern. A thought occurred to him."Dean, I...I have a secret identity." John wasn't in the habit of sugar coating things for his kids, but dammit, sometimes he had to out of necessity. "No one but us can know about it."

Dean's eyes lit up. "You mean like...like Spiderman!" He said it in a whisper that would have been loud enough for people to hear it a block away if anyone had been in the room with them.

"Yes," John took the gift his kid's naivety had offered. "Just like Spiderman. So you have to protect that secret identity so I can keep saving people. Okay? "

"Okay." Dean seemed happy. "Do you...do you have an outfit?"

John actually laughed and then started to cough. "No. No kid, no outfit."

"Why not?"

"Dad would look really stupid in spandex. Trust me."

Dean trusted him. Dean always trusted him. Always.

John Winchester discharged himself a few hours later, his eldest in tow and went to grab his youngest from the sitter. He and Dean and Sammy to complete their broken little family.

 **The End**


End file.
